The name 名
Wèi Jì means “not yet across”: the river still unforded, the work still unfinished. The sixty-four gua do not close on fulfilment but on “not yet,” and knowing you have not crossed is exactly what tells you there is still a road ahead.
The image 象
Fire (Lí) is above, water (Kǎn) below. Fire rises and water sinks; they part ways and cannot serve each other, so nothing gets done. The river lies below with another inner Kǎn in the way: the crossing has not happened. Yet although not one line is in its proper place, every line has a partner. Everything is misplaced, but everything still answers, and there lies the opening.
Layers of images 層
A gua can be read on several levels at once: the trigrams as members of a family (father, mother, eldest to youngest sons and daughters), the six lines as ranks in an organisation (from newcomer to ruler), and as forces of nature and animals. Each extra level adds meaning to the line texts.
Read as a family
Below is Kǎn, the middle son; above is Lí, the middle daughter, the exact reverse of Jìjì. The son below and the daughter above, water flowing down and fire burning up, each going its own way: the matter is not yet done. None of the six lines is correctly placed, yet every pair corresponds: everyone in the household is standing in the wrong spot, but they still answer and care for one another, and that is the capital for rearranging things and moving toward completion.
The judgment, “the little fox has nearly crossed and wets its tail”: tradition links Kǎn with the fox, so the lower Kǎn is the young fox at the water’s edge. A fox holds its tail up when crossing; the young one, lacking experience, gets it wet just short of the far bank, and the effort fails at the last step. Wèijì warns that the final stretch is where people most easily slacken.
Line 3, “not yet across; pressing on is ominous; it is fitting to cross the great river”: every line is out of place, so why single out Line 3? Below it is the lower Kǎn, and above it it enters the nuclear Kǎn of lines 3–5: water in front and behind, so forcing a way through is ominous. But it corresponds with the top line at the very end of the hexagram; following that answer, the great river can still be crossed.
Line 4, “stirring to attack the Devil’s Country; in three years there is reward from the great state”: the fourth place is a feudal lord’s, so the attacker is a lord and the reward comes from the great power of the day; it is usually read as King Wen’s father, Jili, campaigning for the Shang. Line 4 has left the lower Kǎn and entered bright Lí; though still within the nuclear Kǎn, the great effort has finally begun, steady, auspicious, regret gone.
Top line, “trust in drinking wine; no blame; but if it soaks its head, trust loses its proper measure”: below lie two waters, the lower Kǎn and the nuclear Kǎn, and water extends to wine. With Line 3 answering it and Line 5 serving it, the top line celebrates in good faith, and that is blameless; but drinking until the head is soaked is indulgence. The party for a nearly finished job is exactly when people most easily lose their measure.
Turned over, fully changed or with trigrams swapped, Wèijì always becomes Jìjì. In other words, this bank and the far bank belong to the same river: what is “not yet done” for you now is, seen from the other side, “almost done.” The Xu Gua puts Wèijì last, saying things cannot come to a final end: the closing point is another beginning.
Wèijì’s lines 2–4 make Lí and lines 3–5 make Kǎn, which together form Jìjì, After Completion. On the surface the river is not yet crossed, but inside, completion is already under way: water and fire have begun to meet within. So although its lines are out of place, Wèijì has “success”: the situation looks scattered, but the inner process is already heading the right way.
In sequence 序
物不可窮也，故受之以未濟；終焉。
The Xùguà says: “Things cannot be exhausted; therefore Wèi Jì follows, and here the sequence ends.” Jì Jì reached the end of its road, but the world cannot simply run out, so life must open again. The book ends on the unfinished to show that change never stops: the final gua is itself the start of the next round.
The judgment 辭
未濟：亨。小狐汔濟，濡其尾，无攸利。
“Success. The little fox, nearly across, wets its tail; nothing is favorable.” Why success, if not yet across? The gua comes from Pǐ, Obstruction; when things are blocked to the bottom, any change opens them. And one who knows the crossing is unfinished will find a way across. The fox is “little” because it lacks experience. When you are already scrambling, just get across; do not pile further plans and pressure on yourself.
Commentary on the judgment 彖
彖曰：未濟，亨；柔得中也。小狐汔濟，未出中也。濡其尾，无攸利；不續終也。雖不當位，剛柔應也。
The Tuàn attributes the success to “the yielding gaining the center”: line five, which rose from the second place of Pǐ. The little fox “has not left the middle” of the water, and with a wet tail it “cannot carry through to the end.” The key is the last sentence: “Though no line is in its place, firm and yielding all respond.”
The great image 象
象曰：火在水上，未濟；君子以慎辨物居方。
“Fire above water: Not Yet Across. The noble person carefully distinguishes things and sets each in its place.” Misplaced, fire and water are useless to each other; placed rightly, they complete each other. So the noble person sorts things by kind and gives each its proper station.
The six lines 爻
Ruling line The Tuàn explains the gua’s success by “the yielding gaining the center,” which is line five: the heart of the upper fire, the seat of light, answered by line two.
The path of the six lines, bottom to top
Line 1 is the little fox jumping into the water without knowing where it is going, getting its tail wet and some embarrassment besides. Line 2 drags on its wheels and does not hurry, central and steady, and so it is auspicious. Line 3, caught between two waters, would fail if it forced its way, yet by its bond with the top line it can still cross the great river by going with the current. Line 4, entering the upper trigram, finally acts, like a lord on a three-year campaign who is rewarded by the great state. Line 5 on the throne is bright and trustworthy, with all regret gone, the brightest line in the hexagram. The top line celebrates with wine as completion nears, blameless at first, but drinking until its head is soaked loses its measure again: a reminder that the finish line is also a new starting line.
初六濡其尾，吝。
In plain words
The tail is soaked at the outset: regret.
Close reading
A yin line in a yang place, misplaced and lacking drive. It answers the fourth line, but that line is itself inside an inner Kǎn and cannot help. In Jì Jì the first line could still hold back the wheel; Wèi Jì splits that phrase and gives this line only the wet tail. It is in the water from the first step and loses heart at the rivers ahead. The Small Image says it “does not know the end”: it forgets that a crossing has a far bank.
If you drew this line
You are in over your head before seeing the way. Stop, identify where the far bank is, then decide how to proceed.
九二曳其輪，貞吉。
In plain words
Holding back the wheel; firmness brings good fortune.
Close reading
A yang line in a yin place, misplaced, yet central in the lower trigram and answered by the yielding ruler in the fifth place. Firm strength beneath a gentle ruler must learn restraint. Kǎn is both wheel and the horse that draws it, so this one trigram supplies the whole image of a wheel held steady. The Small Image says “by the center it acts correctly”: though the position is off, keeping to the middle keeps the conduct true.
If you drew this line
Hold steady and restrain yourself. Keeping to the middle and to your proper role is the best move now.
六三未濟，征凶，利涉大川。
In plain words
Not yet across: to march ahead brings misfortune, yet it is favorable to cross the great river.
Close reading
A yin line in a yang place, misplaced, and riding over the firm second line. Water lies below and the inner Kǎn above, so it stands in mid-river: “the position is not proper,” says the Small Image, and pushing on is unlucky. Yet it answers the top line, which has left the water behind, hence “favorable to cross the great river.” The two phrases do not contradict each other; time separates them. Looking down at the present, you cannot get across; looking up to your partner, you have the strength to cross later. The third place is the human place, where choices are made.
One level deeper
Line 3, “not yet across; pressing on is ominous; it is fitting to cross the great river”: every line is out of place, so why single out Line 3? Below it is the lower Kǎn, and above it it enters the nuclear Kǎn of lines 3–5: water in front and behind, so forcing a way through is ominous. But it corresponds with the top line at the very end of the hexagram; following that answer, the great river can still be crossed.
If you drew this line
Do not force your way now. Build your strength and wait for the moment; the larger crossing comes later.
九四貞吉，悔亡，震用伐鬼方，三年有賞于大國。
In plain words
Firmness brings good fortune and regret vanishes. Rousing himself, he campaigns against the Guǐfāng, and after three years is rewarded by the great state.
Close reading
A yang line in a yin place, misplaced, hence the hint of regret. But it has left the lower water and entered the upper fire, answers the first line and is relied on by the fifth, so firmness brings good fortune and regret disappears. The text echoes Jì Jì’s third line, as one would expect of two gua that are each other inverted. The fourth place is a feudal lord’s, not a king’s, and the “great state” is the ruling Shāng. “His intent is carried out,” says the Small Image.
One level deeper
Line 4, “stirring to attack the Devil’s Country; in three years there is reward from the great state”: the fourth place is a feudal lord’s, so the attacker is a lord and the reward comes from the great power of the day; it is usually read as King Wen’s father, Jili, campaigning for the Shang. Line 4 has left the lower Kǎn and entered bright Lí; though still within the nuclear Kǎn, the great effort has finally begun, steady, auspicious, regret gone.
If you drew this line
Hold to what is right and rouse yourself for a sustained effort; in time the work will be recognized.
Jìlì against the Western Guǐ
The Guǐfāng campaign in Jì Jì’s third line belongs to King Wǔdīng of Shāng; this one is usually taken to belong to the ancestors of Zhōu. The Hòu Hànshū records that under the tyrannical Shāng king Wǔyǐ, the Quǎnróng raided the frontier, and the Zhōu elder Gǔgōng Dǎnfù crossed Mount Liáng and resettled below Mount Qí. His son Jìlì then marched against the western Guǐ Róng. Jìlì was the father of King Wén, and Zhōu was then only a lord in the west, with Shāng above it as the “great state.” The line’s “after three years is rewarded by the great state” reads like a small frontier house earning the great state’s recognition through long campaigning; the rise of Zhōu began there.
六五貞吉，无悔，君子之光，有孚，吉。
In plain words
Firmness brings good fortune, without regret. The light of the noble person shines; with sincerity, good fortune.
Close reading
A yin line in a yang place, misplaced, yet at the center of the upper fire, the very heart of light, and answered by the second line. Having risen from Pǐ’s second place, it turned the upper Qián, the noble person, into Lí, brightness: hence “the light of the noble person.” Lower water is the moon, upper fire the sun, each lighting the other. “Its radiance is auspicious,” says the Small Image: light that shines outward is its own good fortune.
If you drew this line
Deal with others through sincerity and character, and your light will shine on its own. Ask for nothing more; to be without regret is good fortune.
上九有孚于飲酒，无咎，濡其首，有孚失是。
In plain words
Drinking wine in good faith: no blame. But if the head gets soaked, good faith loses its measure.
Close reading
A yang line in a yin place, misplaced, answered by the third line and supported by the fifth, hence “good faith.” The two layers of water below suggest wine; standing above them, the top line can drink a little without harm. Once it indulges, it falls into the soaked head of Jì Jì’s top line. At the extreme of Not Yet Across, it holds neither the fifth place, where things get done, nor any duty to force a crossing; what suits it is to be content with heaven and accept what comes. The Small Image ends, “it too does not know restraint”: the last words on the 384 lines are about knowing one’s limits.
One level deeper
Top line, “trust in drinking wine; no blame; but if it soaks its head, trust loses its proper measure”: below lie two waters, the lower Kǎn and the nuclear Kǎn, and water extends to wine. With Line 3 answering it and Line 5 serving it, the top line celebrates in good faith, and that is blameless; but drinking until the head is soaked is indulgence. The party for a nearly finished job is exactly when people most easily lose their measure.
If you drew this line
Enjoy yourself in moderation, but do not sink into it. At the end of the road, restraint and contentment keep you whole.
Stories 典
Across in the East, Not Yet in the West
The last two gua can be read against the transition from Shāng to Zhōu. Shāng, with its capital in the east, had come to the end of its course, a river already crossed: Jì Jì. Zhōu was rising in the west below Mount Qí, and from Gǔgōng Dǎnfù through Jìlì to King Wén, generation after generation prepared to cross but had not yet done so: Wèi Jì. Some read Jì Jì’s fifth line, the eastern neighbor’s ox against the western neighbor’s modest offering, as eastern pomp outdone by western sincerity. The end of one dynasty is the beginning of another, and so it is in a single life: one task finished is Jì Jì, the next one begun is Wèi Jì.
Ending with Fire and Water
The Upper Canon of thirty gua closes with Kǎn and Lí; the Lower Canon of thirty-four closes with Jì Jì and Wèi Jì. Both times the ending falls on water and fire. Confucius said that people need humaneness more than they need water and fire. The ancients knew these two as the daily necessities of common life, much as gas, fuel and drinking water are now. After its great discourses on heaven and earth, ruler and minister, fortune and misfortune, the Changes returns to everyday life, and what matters most there is restraint. Have you finished the book? Its last gua is called “not yet across.” Turn back to Qián, and it often reads as if for the first time.
Not This Year: Prepare and Wait
Someone was asked to add a series on Western philosophy alongside an existing one on Chinese classics. Unsure, he cast and received Wèi Jì with the top line changing. The first half of the line, drinking in good faith, was fine; the second, the soaked head, was not, and the Small Image’s “does not know restraint” spoke plainly. His audience had not yet absorbed the first series, so time and position did not match. The resulting gua was Xiè, Release, suggesting that the matter would resolve itself without haste. He decided to wait until the moment was ripe.
Insight 悟
Wèi Jì teaches that when positions are wrong, mutual response and support can still make up for it, and that what cannot be crossed today may be crossed tomorrow; timing decides. The sixty-four gua end on knowing one’s limits, because fortune never lies in heaven but in whether we can restrain our own desires. The Changes has no conclusion, only another round: things cannot be exhausted, every end holds a beginning. Return to Qián and walk it once more.